


Late-Night Meetings for Traumatized People

by lisslynae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Math, Mornings, Nightmares, PTSD, Tony needs sleep, and bruce is not, clint is secretly really smart, steve is actually is a bb, steve isn't actually scared of bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisslynae/pseuds/lisslynae
Summary: The Avengers learn the most about each other when it is late at night, and they get the best chance to be themselves.





	Late-Night Meetings for Traumatized People

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely takes place right after the Avengers, and before anything else.
> 
> I'm sure I totally fudged the timeline with Steve's age, I really don't care in the least. I'm pretty sure I wrote this like five years ago anyway and I'm mostly posting it to get it off of my computer.
> 
> I'm pretty sure it was originally a part of a larger universe, but that never really got written so all that remains is this little story.

Steve started the tea kettle, grabbed a tea bag, mug and spoon, all without speaking to Dr. Banner.

“Want a cup?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

Bruce looked up from the paper he was scribbling corrections on. He tapped the glass on his left. “I’m good.” he answered.

Steve shrugged, staring at the steam starting to curl from the spout of the kettle.

“It’s all right that I scare you. You try, and I’m not offended.” Bruce offered suddenly.

Steve nearly dropped the kettle, and splashed boiling water on his hand. He swore under his breath as he filled his mug. He set the kettle down a bit sharply, and Bruce watched him warily as he ran his fading burn under cold water. “Scare me?” he asked, slightly bewildered. “I don’t..you don’t.” Steve shook his head, dunking his tea bag and adding sugar. “You don’t. I mean, I’ve got a healthy respect for what the other guy could do if I shot at you or something, but you don’t scare me that way.”

Bruce set his pen down. “That way?” he queried.

Steve took a sip of the tea. “I’ve always kind of been a little bit intimidated by really smart people, so I’m really bad at talking to them.” he admitted, sniffing the tea suspiciously. “Hibiscus.” he muttered derisively.

Bruce wiped his glasses carefully on his shirt. “You’re…intimidated by my doctorate, but not by the fact I morph into an invincible rage monster?” he asked skeptically.

Steve frowned comically. “Does sound like I don’t have much sense, doesn’t it? Schmidt got stronger when he was angry. He was stronger than me anyway. And when you’re 5’2”, everyone’s a lot bigger and stronger than you. I’m used to that. I’m not used to people who can, I dunno, break the universe with their brains, like Jane, or practically create people, like Tony, or change people’s DNA, like you can.” He set his mug down to dig through the cupboard, looking at boxes of tea.

Bruce replaced his glasses carefully. “That…is alarming.” he confessed. “I can’t really find fault with your logic, but you might be underestimating what the other guy can do.”

Steve turned back toward him with two boxes of tea in his hand. “Nah. I’ve seen all the footage, I’ve fought alongside him, been on the helicarrier. I know what the other guys is capable of.” He sipped his tea once more and dumped it down the sink with a grimace.

Clint crept in, and stabbed buttons on the coffee machine until it started brewing. “’s not morning yet, is it?” he questioned, scratching at his scalp.

Bruce glanced at his tablet. “Three AM.” 

Steve re-started the kettle with a new choice in tea. “The shell-shock club, I think.” he offered.

Clint pulled his mug out of the cupboard. “PTSD, now, buddy, but that sounds about right.” he admitted, glancing at Steve’s cup. “Somebody’s got hibiscus crap, and it looks good, but it’s a trap.” he warned him.

Steve rubbed his jaw sheepishly. “Threw a mug of it out already.” he admitted.

Clint almost smiled as he added an obscene amount of creamer to his coffee. “Want some, doc?” he offered, gesturing with his mug and sloshing coffee on the counter. Steve tossed him a dishrag and he sloppily wiped it up when Steve glared at him.

“Caffeine is not my friend.” Bruce remarked.

Clint downed half of his mug in one gulp. “More for me.” he said, sliding onto the barstool next to Bruce. “Sweet, equations!” he cheered, looking at Bruce’s papers. Bruce shoved them toward him with a scowl. 

“Tony’s crap.” he griped. “Disaster. I’m not a math person.” He went to the refrigerator. “Anyone want eggs?”

“Think we have ham.” Steve mentioned. “Could do garbage eggs.”

Bruce started cracking the whole dozen into the bowl while Steve chopped ham, onions, mushrooms, and peppers.

Clint slurped his coffee while muttering numbers to himself, scrawling on the back of one of the pages with a pencil, and periodically chewing holes in the eraser. He eventually got up and refilled his coffee and started toast.

The eggs were starting to smell good, Steve was finishing his tea, and Clint was digging for butter when Tony came in, begrimed from the basement workshop. He picked the pages up off the counter. “What did you…oh. Nice, Big Green. Been a while since someone could fix my math.”

Bruce set down the plates and peered over Tony’s shoulder. “Clint, you solved this disaster?” he asked.

Clint’s mouth was full of toast, and crumbs trailed down his shirt when he nodded. “Re-wrote it, mostly.” he answered after he swallowed. He glared at Tony. “Crap math.”

Tony blinked. “You? Why? How?” he stuttered.

Steve handed him a plate of eggs and toast and a fork. “Eat and stop babbling.” His nose wrinkled as he stepped back. “Then shower, maybe.” he added.

Tony stabbed his fork at him, stuffing his mouth with toast.

Clint put his fork back in the drawer and grabbed a spoon, ignoring Bruce’s odd look. “You’re working with repulser stuff. It’s about force and trajectory and crap.”

Tony still gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

“Really?” Clint moaned. “I though you were a genius. I shoot fricking arrows. I kind have to understand things like that.”

Tony swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “Right, okay, good eggs, someone. But this isn’t just high school stuff. This is…I don’t know, I did it in high school, but I was also 13 at the time, so I’m not a really good gauge.”

“Graduate level, probably.” Bruce observed. He shrugged. “I’m not a good gauge for normal, either.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “So I shoot arrows at moving targets with wind from the top of a tree or building, and all different arrows that weigh and balance differently, and at weird angles, and, what? You think I got that from high school geometry?”

Tony shrugged. “Point. You’re my math minion from now on. Genius, long practice, or grad school?”

“I’ve got a GED. I illegally enlisted in the army at 16. Do you think I went to grad school?”

Bruce put his plate in the dishwasher. “You didn’t miss much. High school is a dream compared to college and grad school.”

Tony shuddered. “Oh gosh, grad school. Yick.” He slid his plate along the counter in the general direction of the sink. “Shower time!” he announced, “Then sleep.” He glanced at his phone. “Why are you up, actually? Did I not give you beds when you invited yourselves to live in my house?”

Steve poked him in the ribs. “No, I had an apartment and you had my stuff moved here while I was on a run. We all have beds.”

Tony blinked. “Oh, right.” He looked them over narrowly, then nodded. “Yeah, well, I usually go to my lab, but next time you have a night-time meeting for traumatized people, invite me, won’t you?” He dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” he shouted as the elevator closed.

Steve frowned. “Is there anything we can’t do, then? We should blow something up, just because he gave us permission.” 

Bruce chuckled at the glee on Clint’s face, and Steve grabbed the archer’s arm. “I was kidding.” he told him firmly. “That was absolutely not a suggestion. Don’t you dare.”

Clint pouted. “Fine, Dad.” he complained, popping his neck loudly. “I’m going back to bed, or something. Can’t have any fun around senior citizens.”

Steve snapped the dish towel at his retreating butt, making Clint jump and yelp. Steve snickered when Bruce looked at him over his glasses. “Objectively speaking, I’m about 21.” Steve acknowledged. “There are probably worse things I could be doing.”

Bruce froze in the middle of gathering his papers. “Twenty-one? Oh gosh.” he muttered, slumping onto a stool. “You’re a college kid.” Bruce rubbed at his forehead. “A kid.”

Steve dried his hands and tossed the towel over the rack. “That’s not common knowledge? Doesn’t Tony have a secret room with all of our personal information displayed on the wall?”

Bruce huffed. “History books don’t exactly mention that Captain America was jailbait. And I don’t think any of us really think about it.”

Steve’s brows lifted. “Then don’t. It’s not a big deal.” He dug around the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “It’s not.” he repeated earnestly. “I wouldn’t have said it if I knew it would bother you. I means I’m adaptable, I’ve got a lot of life to go, ’s okay, really.” He assured Bruce.

Bruce shook his head. “I’m technically old enough to be your dad.” he groaned.

Steve looked at him carefully, then pulled the papers out of his hand and pulled him up. “Bed. You’re not thinking objectively.” He said firmly, steering Bruce to the elevator. “Don’t.” he warned when Bruce opened his mouth. “I earned this the hard way, and I know it’s not normal, but it’s good, and I’m not sure you’ve slept in three days.”

Bruce sagged against the wall with a sigh. “Probably not.” he admitted ruefully. 

Steve tugged him out of the elevator, and propelled him into his apartment. “I’m not tucking you in.” He noted decidedly. “Go to bed.” he insisted. Bruce moved toward the bedroom as Steve left. As he closed the door behind him he grinned. “Good night, Dad!” he called jokingly. Bruce almost laughed as he started undressing for bed.


End file.
